Corpse in the Carnations

by Dale Mayer

  At that moment, Thaddeus, snoozing atop his living room roost, opened his eyes and squawked at the disturbance. Doreen walked over and chuckled. “Sorry, Thaddeus. We didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.”

  Fen smiled. “Isn’t that a treat? I’ve met this guy a time or two.”

  Thaddeus crowed, “A time or two. A time or two.”

  And they both chuckled.

  She motioned at the living room as a whole. “Maybe we should start here.”

  He agreed. He leaned his cane against one of the chairs and walked toward the nearest piece of furniture, a large rich mahogany hutch pushed up against the staircase. She figured it was about six feet tall and took up a good four-foot-wide space. A nice piece but she’d do a lot to be rid of it. It really slowed progress down the hallway. Plus it was in the way, and it made the room look so much smaller.

  Fen nodded, then looked at it again. “Can you pull it out slightly?”

  She joined him at that side of the hutch, reached down, and pulled it forward slightly, thankful it shifted relatively easily on the hardwood floor. She didn’t want to scrape the floor and damage it or the piece.

  He muttered as he looked over the back of the hutch, then returned to the front, and continued to murmur.

  She wasn’t exactly sure if the muttering was good or bad or if he was not quite all here. She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a notepad, took a picture of the piece they were discussing, and put a numeral one on top of the notepad page.

  When he finally turned to her, he said, “It’s a nice piece, not very rare, but it’s a good maker. Hannover always was known for the pride of their product. But their stuff before 1960 was better. This is a 1960s piece,” he said. “I can’t find any proof of that of course, but I would wager this is some of their lesser quality work.”

  She frowned at that. “So this is a less valuable piece because of that?”

  He nodded sagely. “Yes, my dear. It’ll still fetch you a nice price. You know, maybe eleven to twelve hundred dollars.”

  She stared at him. “How much?”

  “Eleven to twelve hundred dollars. Now if we could prove some kind of a history to it, we’d likely get more, and provenance would help to age it properly. If it is before 1960, it would be worth twice that.”

  She made notes as fast as she could as he continued on and on about the color and the stain job and the corners. Something about how the corners had been done was extra special. So it made him question the 1960 date of the piece. He’d gone back to muttering as he opened every drawer, every door, checking the joints inside and out.

  Finally he turned and said, “Ask your grandmother if you would find any receipts for it.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  With his help, she moved the piece back up against the wall. “Well, that’s obviously worth a more favorable amount of money than I had expected,” she admitted.

  He turned and pointed to the small corner table in the back. “Now that is worth a small fortune.” He looked at her. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”

  She shook her head. “Please, be my guest.”

  She took a picture of the item as he muttered over it. It was just a small corner table. But he had it upside down, tapping the base.

  “Take a picture of this,” he said, “because that’s your maker’s mark. And that’s what makes this worth at least seven, maybe eight thousand dollars.”

  She froze, almost dropped her notebook and pencil. “For that piece?” Her voice rose in a squeak.

  He nodded. “Absolutely.” He looked at it again. “It’s a lovely piece.” He stroked the top in admiration, almost as if it was a loved one or a beloved pet. He sighed happily. “That is so worth making the trip for.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. She didn’t want to admit to him that she had been ready to put it outside at the curb and stick a Free sign on it to see if anybody wanted to come by and cart it off for her.

  “When you’re ready to sell some of these pieces,” he said, “let me know, and I’ll put you in touch with an auction house.”

  “Is that a good idea?” she asked anxiously. “Isn’t an antiques dealer better to deal with?”

  “You could, but then you’ll lose money on their commission, which usually runs thirty percent,” he said. “Special antique auctions are held where you’ll get top dollar. Still have to pay a commission, but the auctions usually command a much higher selling price.”

  “Wow,” she muttered as she continued to write.

  After that he studied piece after piece after piece. And one that she particularly liked was all done in knotty pine. He looked at it, shook his head, and said, “This is one of those Swedish put-together-from-a-box things. I think they call it prebox.” He never checked for a maker’s mark.

  She stared at it. “I really like it.”

  He shot her a look of disgust. “You’re surrounded by beautiful pieces, and you chose the cheapest in the entire place.” He shook his head and moved on to the next item.

  She groaned. “I think it was the color of the wood I liked,” she offered. She didn’t want him to look at her lack of taste and take it as her disdain of the work he did.

  “That’s what all wood looks like,” he said, “before it’s treated. Most of these pieces are stained. That one barely has any finish on it.” He stroked the side of it and said, “You feel that roughness to it?”

  She reached out and nodded.

  “That’s because they didn’t do a full sanding, another coat, then another sanding, followed by another coat. All they did was a basic sealant. Cheap,” he said. “Keep it if you must, if you like it. But, since you’re looking to sell some of these pieces, then sell the ones you don’t care about. Because a lot of money is here in this living room.”

  By the time they had gone through just this room, she was stunned. So many of these pieces were real antiques. Her soon-to-be ex-husband would be over the moon. Nan had never, in any way, made a comment about the value of the pieces she’d left behind. It was just too much for Doreen.

  She sat down on the couch beside Fen. “May I get you a cup of tea?”

  He looked at her gratefully. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, “a glass of water would be preferred.”

  She nodded and rushed into the kitchen, where she poured him a glass of water and put on the teakettle for her.

  When she returned, he was studying the couch under the window. It had faded and showed its age. But it had big wooden arms sticking out from the big puffy cushions. And all along the back was more wood. Ornate scrolls covered the entire thing. It was comfortable, but it was very outdated. She wasn’t a fan.

  Goliath, on the other hand, lying atop the back of the couch, appeared to love it. He stared at the stranger in the house, and the stranger stared back.

  She was about to hand Fen his glass of water when he said, “You do realize that cat is lying on a ten thousand dollar piece of furniture?”

  She almost dropped the glass of water as she gave it to him. “How much?” she asked in a faint voice.

  He smiled. “You had no idea, did you?”

  She moved her head from side to side. “No. But it is definitely music to my ears.”

  “If you’re not an antiques person,” he said, “you’re sitting on a gold mine.”

  She pointed to the couch and questioned, “Literally?”

  He patted the side. “We need to see the underside. Although I already know what this is. It’s a Queen Anne couch. Circa 1818,” he said. “You can tell from the designs on the footings here.”

  She was seriously gobsmacked. She sank down into a chair. “I had no clue.” She hated to envision that all her money worries were over because, so far, these were just figures. Not a sale in hand nor any money in her fist.

  He pointed at the chair she was in. “That is a matching chair you’re sitting in.”

  She bounced up. “Is it worth something too?”

  “Becaus
e you have this partial set,” he said, “the two pieces, it’ll add another easy five thousand dollars, possibly ten thousand dollars to the total price. It was part of a large bedroom set originally. I doubt you’d have the other pieces, but I’m happy to see this much of one.”

  She wanted to break out in a song and dance, but, at the same time, she could feel the tremors rocking through her. “I need to talk to Nan,” she said. “I wonder if she had any idea.”

  “Oh, she knows,” he said. “I talked to her about this couch a long time ago.” He looked around and frowned. “Do you know where the other chair is?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  He pointed at the chair. “Nan used to have two of them.”

  Doreen said, “Just a minute.” She ran upstairs. Sure enough, in the master bedroom, underneath the heap of clothing she had taken off her bed last night, was the matching chair. Carefully she removed the clothing and picked up the chair, carrying it to the living room.

  His face lit up when he saw it. “Turn it upside down for me, will you?” She flipped it over, and he crowed with delight. “See here? That’s the maker’s mark you want, and it confirms it’s part of the same set.” He sighed happily. “Please tell me that you’ll sell these.”

  “Oh, I’m selling them,” she said. “I can’t afford not to.”

  “You see? That’s where you’re different from Nan. She could afford not to. She loved them, and she used them well. In your case, if you don’t love them and could use the money, you’re probably better off selling them.” He shot a look at the cat again, who was now stretched out over the couch cushion. “The more damage, the less value.”

  She wanted to snatch up Goliath. But he was likely to dig in his claws even deeper.

  He eyed the coffee table. “That may be part of the original set as well, if you find a maker’s mark underneath. I’ll leave that to you. Plus we really need those provenance papers.”

  She nodded. “How could this set possibly not sell?”

  “The animals could deteriorate the value very quickly.” He chuckled. “When I get home, I’ll make a few calls. I might get an appraiser to connect with you. Better to get one who can deal with buyers too.”

  “Yes, please,” she said. “Selling these pieces would help a lot to open up this living room.”

  He nodded. “And, while you’re at it, you may want to offer up the Turkish rug you’re standing on.”

  She jumped back onto the hardwood floor.

  He nodded. “It’s very old. I’ve talked to Nan several times about selling it.”

  “It’s for sale,” Doreen said, hating the busy pattern, making it hard to see anything else in the room. “But it does need a major cleaning.”

  “Don’t touch it,” he said. “You’ll ruin it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it’s wool with silk threads through it. It must be commercially cleaned by a specialist.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. She hated to even think about the number of times she might have spilled tea on it. “I know I sound terribly money-minded, but what would something like that fetch?”

  He shrugged. “The appraiser will do a much better job at estimating its current worth. But I would say at least six, maybe seven thousand dollars. It could easily be twice that, depending on the condition of the rug after a proper cleaning.” He leaned over and separated the threads.

  She could see the deep rich cream color underneath. “Is it supposed to be that color?”

  He smiled. “The damage doesn’t appear to be all the way through. It’s just surface dirt, so it should wash well.”

  She wanted to sit down but didn’t have a clue where she could possibly sit. And then she looked over at the hearth of the fireplace, which she had yet to light, and sat down on the slate. “The sooner you can put me in touch with somebody, the better,” she said quietly.

  “What about Nan?”

  She nodded and held up her notebook. “I’ll visit her this afternoon.”

  “Good.” He straightened up. “Maybe I could come back in a few days, after you talk to the appraiser.” He looked around the room. “Honestly, the sooner you sort out these pieces, the better, so you can see what else is here. It takes time to go through so many pieces.”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Thanks for offering. First though is the appraiser. You will send me the contact information, won’t you?”

  “I don’t plan to die on the way home, so you’ll be sure to get it when I get there.”

  She flushed. “I’m so sorry.” She blustered her way through an apology. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “You see a sudden source of income here, and I imagine you’ve had a pretty rough time of it lately,” he said. “But I’m happy the antiques will reenter the world to some collector who will love them. Nan has loved them, but her time here has gone. And they’re not your thing, are they?”

  She winced. “Not really.”

  He looked scathingly over at the light-colored pine hutch. “Anybody who loves this should part with the antiques.” He made his way out the door.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see these items go to somebody who will love them,” she said quickly.

  He waved at her. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

  And she had to be satisfied with that.

  Chapter 11

  Friday early afternoon…

  She went inside, made herself a cup of tea, and sat at the kitchen table in a daze. The numbers on her page were adding up to an incredible amount. So much so that she had to stop looking at that figure because, like Fen had said, he wasn’t an appraiser. It had been his business, but he was out of that. She needed an appraiser, and she needed somebody who would buy this furniture from her. Its estimated value was absolutely unbelievable.

  It was already almost one o’clock. And now she felt even worse for her lack of manners. She should have offered him tea earlier and something to eat. But what? She had nothing to eat herself. Still, her lack of manners, something that would never have happened when she was still living with her husband, horrified her.

  She sat, drinking her tea and munching on crackers. She checked the time, wondering if it was a good time to visit Nan. It was a balance between Nan’s meals, her social life, and naps.

  Finally she couldn’t wait any longer. She picked up the phone and called her grandmother. “Hey, Nan, are you up for a visit?”

  “Always. Did you have any specific reason?” she asked.

  “I just spoke with Fen.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, “come on down then. I’ll put on the teakettle.”

  Hanging up the phone, Doreen finished the last of her cup of tea and called the animals to her. She put the leash on Mugs and looked over at Goliath. “Do you want to come too?”

  His tail switched, as if saying, Do cats meow?

  Thaddeus walked up Doreen’s arm and perched himself on her shoulder. He was strangely still. She wasn’t sure if that was a yawn or just a sleepy-eyed look at her. But he kept opening his beak, as if taking gulps of air.

  She walked out the door of the kitchen and then raced back to lock the door. She’d always been incredibly cavalier about locking up the place. But now that she knew so much money was tied up in the furniture, she was almost giddy with excitement, and yet, petrified with worry. What if somebody stole the things now that she’d had the estimator in here? And how could she stop anybody from finding out? That would be the problem with telling Nan.

  Doreen frowned as she considered the issue, walking toward Nan’s apartment. When they got there, she looked around. Dennis, the gardener for Rosemoor, was at the other end and quite busy. With Mugs in hand, she raced across the grass. She just made it onto the patio when Dennis, as if knowing she was here, turned and lifted the shovel, shaking it at her. She just smiled and motioned at Nan, seated at her bistro table.

  Nan chuckled. “You two do have fun fighting, don’t you?”
>
  Doreen pulled out a chair. “Not really.” She glanced at her grandmother to catch the sparkle in her eyes. “You look like you’ve been having a fun morning.”

  Nan went off in a bout of chuckles. “We set up a whole pile of betting pools,” she said. “It’s great stuff.” She reached over and patted Doreen’s hand. “I think you have done so much for this town.”

  “Thanks, Nan,” she said drily. “You know I intended on making a good impression,” she said. “Not making a fool out of myself and becoming notorious.”

  Nan waved away her granddaughter’s objections. “Pshaw,” she said. “I’m too old to care, and you’re too young to let it bother you. Forget about the others.”

  Easy for Nan to say. Because, in a way, she was too old to care. Nan had been doing her thing for a long time. In Doreen’s case, she was just figuring out what her thing was. She waited until the tea was poured and then asked, “Nan, you said I could have everything in the house. Is that correct?”

  Nan nodded. “Did you find more pocketsful of money?” she asked with a twinkle. “I used to leave money attached inside my dresses. We had the cutest little safety pins, and the money would slide in the clothes wherever, and you’d never know. Then I didn’t have to take a purse. Purses were such a drag, especially when dancing. Any time I took a purse, I forgot it, lost it, dropped it at least half a dozen times. They’re really no fun to look after.”

  Doreen nodded. “But back then you had coat checks, didn’t you?”

  “Of course, but a purse was an accessory. It’s not like you would hand that over, would you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Certainly not. Like you wouldn’t hand over a necklace or a bracelet,” Nan added.

  As Doreen thought about how much purses were an accessory for a woman, she realized how accurate Nan’s comment was. “True.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “And, yes, I did say that you can have everything in the house.”

  Doreen was still figuring out if purses went into coat checks or not and had to bring her mind back to the real topic of their conversation. She smiled. “Apparently you have a lot of valuable antiques in your house.”